


A Slip of the Heart

by opalmatrix



Category: The Dalemark Quartet - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Awkward Romance, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Marriage Proposal, Shyness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opalmatrix/pseuds/opalmatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Happily ever after" doesn't always come easy, especially for the guttersnipe from Holand and the miller's daughter from Ansdale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slip of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [athersgeo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athersgeo/gifts).



> For [**athersgeo**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/athersgeo/pseuds/athersgeo), who wanted "a story set in the early part of Mitt's reign ... a love story between him and Biffa." Excellent Beta reading provided by **[undomielregina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/undomielregina/pseuds/undomielregina)** , **[lady_ganesh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh)** , and **[smillaraaq](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Smillaraaq/)**.

### Ansside

Mitt mopped his face. He felt as though he had lived one hundred years in the past six months, campaigning in the South Dales. This last bit of the ride back through the marshes south of Mount Tanil, all moist air and midges and broiling flashes of sun, was just one more sad joke in the tale of the early years of King Amil. He wondered how the wounded were faring.

A shout came from the outriders at the head of the column. The texture of the land ahead was changing, turning smoother and less green. Mitt realized that he was looking at the end of the marshland, where the River An flowed down from the hills. He thought that they were still a day's ride, at their slow pace, from the village of Clenford, yet he saw what looked like another village no more than half a mile off.

Not houses, he realized — tents. Someone had set up an encampment where the ground first became suitable. People were gathering before the tents and waving at the king's returning troops.

"Well," said Navis. "We seem to have a camp, whether we are ready for it or not."

"Oh, I'm ready for it," said Mitt, with feeling.

In short order, they were caught up in a crowd of youngsters and old people who took charge of the horses, carried the injured into the largest tents, and promised the uninjured baths and food. "A bath sounds just the thing," said Navis, crisply.

Mitt followed him to a mid-sized tent near the banks of the river. It was a good thing, he reflected, that Navis was completely uninterested in ruling Dalemark. Mitt was hard-put, still, not to act as though Navis was in charge. 

Half a dozen huge cauldrons steamed before the bath house, and several hale old men and strapping boys and girls were staggering in with buckets of hot water and then striding back out for more. Inside, Mitt and Navis were waved off behind a curtain where was a large wooden tub waiting. A young woman was just hoisting her bucket of hot water and pouring it in.

Mitt's first thought was that he hoped the bathwater was not _too_ hot: he still felt half-steamed from the trek through the marshes. Then it occurred to him that the young woman was handling her heavy wooden bucket as though it weighed no more than a pint mug of beer. Belatedly, he realized that she was more than six feet tall.

"Well met, Biffa of Ansdale!" said Navis.

She turned, and Mitt recognized her at last, hulking beside the tub, which was clearly even larger than he had first thought. Her hair was bound up in a cloth on top of her head, her face was flushed with heat and effort, the sleeves of her sturdy green gown were rolled up past her elbows, and her feet were bare and muddy. She was the best thing Mitt had seen for a year. "Biffa!" he shouted.

Her slab of a face turned even more red and she smiled down at her bare toes. "Hallo, Mitt. I mean — Your Majesty."

He had not thought she could blush any redder than she had already, and yet it suited her. Tendrils of soft tawny hair had escaped from her headcloth, and her eyelashes were long and thick, casting shadows on her flushed cheeks. "Don't worry about that! I'm so glad to see you."

She blinked and turned away, reaching into the tub. "The water's just right, I think. I – I left it a little on the cool side, it's been so terribly hot today."

"Excellent," said Navis, crisply. "We are in your debt, Biffa."

"I'll say," said Mitt. "Biffa — I could marry you on the spot!"

There was a dreadful pause. Finally, Navis said, "Not much of a joke, I must say, Mitt."

"I'll just get some towels," said Biffa, breathlessly, and ran out.

Mitt stared after her. "Flaming Ammet! I _wasn't_ – ."

Navis looked up from unlacing his overtunic. "You weren't what?"

"Joking," said Mitt, and started stripping off his own clothes savagely. _No. I wasn't._

### Kernsburgh in Autumn

The days were already noticeably shorter, but the weather was perfect for the harvest festival. The crisp autumn sunlight shone on the new houses of Kernsburgh, built and half-built, and the workers at the palace were singing and shouting over the midday dinner that marked the start of their half-holiday. A fresh barrel of beer was being rolled out and hoisted onto the sawhorses, and Biffa was ready with the tap and the hammer. "Where's the King?" she asked the Duchess Eltruda. 

"Still closeted with Navis and Luthan. Why?"

"I don't know that I want him to see me at this," said Biffa, and she struck the tap home with one blow. The workers cheered, and one sturdy young woman in a carpenter's apron surged forward with her mug, beating out her fellows and causing a good deal of good-natured complaining. Biffa stepped back, grinning, and followed Eltruda back to the raw new kitchen in the ducal residence.

"Why should you worry about young Mitt seeing you do that?" asked Etruda. "He speaks warmly about you, constantly."

"I'm sure," said Biffa shortly, and turned away to grab a clean tray from a stack on one of the kitchen tables.

Eltruda frowned. "What's the matter with you?"

"Everyone admires a big, healthy plow horse," said Biffa, bitterly.

Eltruda was silent for a moment, helping one of the cooks load apple pies onto a platter. When the cook was out of earshot, Eltruda shook her head at Biffa. "I think you're making a mistake, my dear," she said. "I think that there's a reason the king asked you to come here. Navis says —"

"He doesn't need a great lump of a miller's girl from a tiny town in the hills," said Biffa. "He needs someone like Hildy, who could be a proper queen."

"Even if he and Hildrida got along, which they don't, you couldn't be more wrong," said Eltruda. "Mitt needs someone who could be calm and strong for him. I doubt that Bloody Hobin is the last challenge that our king will face."

"I'm dead common," said Biffa, and hoisted her own tray of pies. "What will the earls think? And anyway, what makes you think I want to marry _him?_ "

She plastered on a smile and marched back out to the happily roaring holiday crowd, ignoring the duchess' troubled face behind her.

### Kernsburgh in Winter

Snow had fallen again at Kernsburgh, but the clouds had blown away, leaving the sky a brilliant blue and the air bitterly cold. The rooms of the Duke of Kernsburgh's residence were warm with Alk's best and latest steam heating devices, so that the window had to be wiped before Mitt could look out. In the yard below, which was not yet really a garden, Biffa and Ynen were lobbing snowballs at Luthen and a crowd of children who were attempting to storm a massive snow fort. Ynen had started to grow recently, but he still barely came up to Biffa's shoulder. The shrieks and battle-cries came only faintly through the thick panes of fogged glass.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Mitt turned and found Navis in the doorway, holding a steaming cup in each hand. The smell of hot spiced wine drifted through the room. "You're bringing me a treat," Mitt observed. "I suppose that means a serious talk."

"Careful, Mitt," said the Duke of Kernsburgh. "That sounded rather clever. People are already beginning to suspect that you have a brain of excellent quality. Your useful reputation as a man of humble beginnings is in danger of being forgotten."

"Sometimes I wonder what exactly my reputation was in Noreth's — I mean Maewen's history books," said Mitt. Taking one of the cups from Navis, he sat down by the fire in one of the beautiful cushioned chairs that had been brought in only a week ago and took a sip. "Real taste of the South, there. So what's this about then?"

Navis strolled past the window and peered out through the clear space Mitt had made, which was already starting to fog over again. "That's the one flaw of this furnace of Alk's," he commented, and came back to sit opposite Mitt. "It's probably just as well we don't know what those books will say, two hundred years from now. But one thing they will say, at this rate: King Amil never took a queen."

Mitt swore. At length. Navis waited politely for him to finish. "What business is it of anyone's if I don't?" said Mitt, at last.

"We've talked about this. An heir will be the most straightforward way to ensure that the things you are starting to accomplish will last past your reign," said Navis. 

This was true, Mitt thought. But it didn't seem to matter to me personally before last summer. "So I suppose you've got someone all picked out already, don't you? Some earl's daughter." _Like Hildy._

"Marrying an earl's daughter could actually be quite problematic," said Navis. "In any case, I thought you'd actually made up your mind yourself."

Mitt stared at him and flushed. "Oh. Oh, that. It was just —"

"You said it wasn't a joke."

"It _wasn't_. But –"

"But?"

"It was a horrible way to start with her."

"I think you should speak with her," said Navis, as cool as ever, and sipped his wine. Mitt stared into his own cup, his gut a knot of misery, confusion, and want.

### Aberath

Biffa stepped out of the carriage into a cool drizzle. She had almost forgotten how miserable early spring in Adenmouth could be: Kernsburgh had already had early daffodils and crocus blooming in the sunny spots when she'd left. She turned to help Hildy down the long step.

Her besting's face was nearly green, but the fresh air started to revive her. Hildy leaned against Biffa, the dignity of her new title all but forgotten. "And to think I've scarcely ever been seasick," she croaked. "I ought to tell Alk that this carriage-train of his is a vile piece of work."

"But look how quickly we've got to Adenmouth," said Biffa, soothingly. "We're here in less than two hours. It would have taken almost the entire day on horseback."

"It may as well have been the entire day, given how _exhausted_ I am. Honestly, I've been less tired after an afternoon's grittling with those three beasts from Fayside."

Alk climbed down from the massive coal-eating engine that had pulled the train of three carriages and the small wagon after them, waving at the cheering bystanders. The Countess swept forward to meet him, then drew him up onto the steps of a small platform that had been built sometime in the last day or two, by the look of the lumber. "Oh no," murmured Hildy. "They want him to make a speech."

Biffa looked around the huge crowd. She still wasn't fond of busy towns, with so many people she didn't know. To her relief, she spotted Kialan waiting near the platform. "There's the Adon," she whispered back. "And — oh, there's Brid!" She waved to them, and when Brid waved back, Biffa gestured to Hildy and herself and made a face like someone who was about to drop with weariness. 

Brid came over at once, her pretty face shining with happiness. "Welcome to Aberath town! Look at you, you're exhausted. Alk won't miss you at all if we go back right now. We'll take the carriage."

The carriage was painted the Aberath livery colors and had seats of cushioned velvet. "This has to belong to the Countess," said Hildy, frowning.

"Of course, but we'll send it right back," said Brid. "It's no distance. She'll never notice: look at her."

The Countess was watching the adoring crowd like a cat watching a flock of sparrows. Biffa shook her head and handed Hildy up before climbing in herself. After seeing their bags loaded, Brid clambered in after them. "This will be such fun!" she said. "Kialan and I have a surprise planned for the feasting tonight."

It was in fact no more than a few minutes before they pulled up before the great house of Aberath. Brid sprang out and ran inside, calling for someone to take the bags of the Countess' guests. Hildy and Biffa followed more slowly. "I suppose they're going to announce their betrothal," said Hildy.

"You don't sound as though you approve," said Biffa, as they arrived in a lofty hallway floored with squares of light and dark grey stone, with a beautifully carved wooden staircase at the far end.

"I don't ever intend to marry," announced Hildy. "I suppose it might suit you and Brid."

"I wonder," said Biffa. "It's not as though I have any offers."

Hildy stopped, threw her head back, and put her hands on her hips, once again Lady Hildrida, Warden of the Holy Islands. "Enblith Rannidsdaughter! If Mitt hasn't said anything to you, it's high time he did. He can't keep his eyes off you. It's perfectly sickening."

Biffa blushed, wondering who else might have heard that, but the servants who were arriving beside them seemed to be intent only on grabbing the baggage. "I thought you didn't like him."

"It's not my business to like him. He's the king, and he's making a decent go of it. Come on, don't you want to get changed? I'm soaked." Hildy swept up the staircase, leaving Biffa to trail helplessly in her wake.

### Kernsburgh in Spring

Moril was playing the same song for what had to be the fourth time, with a loud chorus of spring birds as accompaniment to the big cwidder, and farther off, the noise of hammering and general bustle from the workers building the palace. Mitt thought that Navis' garden was far too new and raw to be the least bit romantic, but that didn't stop courting couples from wandering the walkways and paths together, just the same.

He decided to give Moril a break. "Play me something else," he said. " _Anything_ else."

Moril grinned. "They _will_ keep asking for it. It's not so bad, really. Only Dagner could write a sappy love song that can be played over and over like that." He plucked idly at the strings for a moment, then started to play a proper tune, an ironic little smile on his face.

After the first verse, Mitt recognized it: "Lady Liswen and the Earl." He listened to Moril for a few moments, wondering why he felt so uncomfortable, and then he remembered the story of the ballad. The lady and her earl had never declared their love to each other until he was dying. And afterward she ran off and became a hermit.

Oh, really! thought Mitt. The flaming, interfering little brat! Then he took a deep breath and calmed himself. They weren't boys competing for a girl's favor and a place in the world any longer. Mitt was a king, and Moril was one of the leading Singers of the era. It was the duty of a Singer to tell the truth, even to the ruler of Dalemark. So Mitt bit his tongue and waited for the sorrowful old tune to wind its way to its end. 

"All right, true enough," he said. "But the one time I brought it up, she thought I was making fun of her. She's used to people finding her funny because she's so large."

"But you don't mind that — right?"

"Flaming Ammet, no! She's _magnificent._ And I have a couple of inches on her nowadays, anyhow."

"Just talk to her," said Moril. "It can't be any tougher than bringing the Great Uprising to its end. Talk to her like a friend. You're getting very good at that. Look how polite Hildrida Navissdaughter's become to you."

"It's only that Hildy knows she can't act that way to me now that she's the Warden and I'm her overlord," Mitt pointed out.

"It's more than that. She talked to you for nigh on half an hour last month at the dedication of the new market square, and I understood every word."

"She actually had some good notions," said Mitt, and sighed. "All right. Biffa's in Ansdale for the next couple of months, anyway. I've got 'til Midsummer to build up my courage. Wish me luck."

Moril smiled at him, his pale face actually a bit pink for once. "I always do," he said.

### Adenmouth

The King of Dalemark had made it his official custom to preside at Midsummer in a different principal town each year, and much of his court had followed him to Adenmouth this time around. Navis had them all installed very comfortably in his own former home, but Biffa had asked for someplace less crowded. Hildy never stayed with her stepmother if she could help it, so Biffa had ended up with her in a beautiful little inn on the outskirts of town. The Warden of the Holy Islands had taken every room for herself and her party.

Biffa was glad to return to the quiet of the place after the festivities. The feasting had been truly epic, from the endlessly flowing beer and wine to the fashionable little fruit cheesecakes and honeyed almond sweetmeats at the end. Dagner and Moril had been the most notable of the many musicians who had played, and they had been joined by their sister Brid on the old tune "Undying at Midsummer." Biffa had left as soon as the Undying had been welcomed into the hall.

Now she stood in the little courtyard of the inn, with its fruit trees and tiny fountain, and looked up at the quiet sky, still faintly grey to the South. The King's Peace meant no serious worries from that direction nowadays, and no real fears for the year to come. Dalemark was becoming a land of happy wonders, from the palace rising at Kernsburgh in the heart of the land to Alk's steel-railed roads reaching south from Aberath. Biffa had been able to see the best bits of it happen, yet she still felt outside of it all. Tomorrow, I'll take my leave and go home to Ansdale, she thought. I've had enough. 

Footsteps sounded faintly on the road outside the gate. Biffa looked up to see His Majesty King Amil, minus his crown and with a light cloak covering his rich but somber feast-day clothes, approaching the inn. They stared at each other for a moment, and Biffa thought she saw something of her own discontent in his long, bony face.

"May I come in?" he asked, at last. He was looking down at his boots.

Biffa wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. The King of Dalemark! He sounded so humble. "Of course," she said, and opened the gate.

He sat down on one of the stone benches near the fountain and her, and looked up. "You didn't stay for the rest of the feasting," he said at last.

"Nor you," she answered. "And where's your crown, Your Majesty?"

"I'm not here as King Amil," he said. "So I couldn't wear it. Tonight, I'm just Mitt."

"Mitt, then. What brought you here, Mitt?"

"Last summer, I asked you a question."

"No, you didn't."

"Well, I _meant_ it to be a question. Biffa, will you marry me?"

"You don't love me."

"That's not true."

"You loved Noreth."

"I was a kid. It was more than five years ago. And anyway, she wasn't really Noreth."

"But I know how you felt about her. Navis told me."

Mitt's face twisted into a dark scowl. "I'm getting tired of my chief minister trying to manage every flaming bit of my life," he said, bitterly.

"No, he had to. I had a right to know. If you'd loved someone who had died of the plague when you were young, wouldn't it be right for me to know?"

"Did he just up and tell you that? 'Oh, Mitt was just head over heels with calf love for that poor girl?'"

"No. I asked him. Because people were starting to say that you were making eyes at me, and I thought it couldn't be true."

Mitt was silent for a moment and then sighed. "Well, I was in love with her. I can't forget her, even though she's gone."

"I wouldn't want you to forget her. That's why I'm glad Navis told me. It made me understand why you hadn't said anything to me since you blurted that out, with me all over sweat and river mud and you just back from the war."

"It wasn't just Noreth. I really didn't mean to say that — ."

"Just a slip of the tongue, after all, then?"

"No! It wasn't! I meant it, I really did. And I still do. But it shouldn't have come out then, like that. We'd been fighting, and it was so truly awful. I've got no words to say how terrible it was. And then there was the long journey back, and wounded men and women dying almost every day, far from their homes here in the north. And there you were, so full of life, and so much what I wanted for Dalemark: strong, and big, and beautiful. Flaming Ammet, Biffa; I'm not Dagner Clennensson. I can't make love songs for you, to say how I feel."

Her heart felt like a great warm lump in her chest, and the night covered up the blush on her face. She sat down on the next little bench beside him, her knee almost touching his. "Not a slip of the tongue then; a slip of the heart," she said, and held out her hand. He took it, and if she had been as small as Hildy or Brid, her fingers would have been crushed.

"Mitt," she said, slowly, "If I'm your wife — if I'm Queen of Dalemark — I'll have to be with you at court and in towns all over Dalemark. Tonight's feasting was enough to last me until autumn: I was all ready to go home to Ansdale tomorrow. Eltruda said that you need a strong queen to stay by your side and support you. Navis said the same."

"So go. I know where to find you. And after we're married … Kernsburgh won't be a big town for a while yet."

"You won't mind, if I need a good deal of time back in Ansdale?"

"I guess you wouldn't be Biffa if you didn't," he said. "And we can't let Navis Haddsson be right about everything."

 


End file.
